


it's (all) coming down, down

by starsun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Don't know about that but adding it just in case, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Heavy Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-09-24 22:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20366467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsun/pseuds/starsun
Summary: "You're late""You couldn't save him, you couldn't save me. You can't save anyone"In a land where his own family means nothing to him, Sylvain only want to keep the one he chose safe.It's harder than he thought it would be.





	1. dawn

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Halsey's song called Coming Down, and this is, uh, a fic. 
> 
> Special thanks to the angst squad on the server for their help!! and to bel specially :D

They were over. 

The days his friends and himself would spend running around, playing and training with wooden swords before taunting each other, ended with a war. 

The tragedy had affected them all, some more than the rest. No longer would Felix demand to fight Dimitri before one of them lost, laughing it afterwards like the kids they were; Felix was angry and sad even if he wouldn’t admit it, Ingrid barely uttered a word to them whenever they saw each other, and neither of them called Dimitri by his first name, it was only ‘your highness’ or ‘boar’ from then on. Sylvain himself couldn’t be so carefree with any of his friends. He was terrified he would end up saying something that would make them snap. After all, losing people dear to you was heart-wrenching. He knew that much at least — even if the only love his brother ever gave him left him with scars — and yet it still hurt to know that his current family was breaking apart, Felix’s shift being the most heart-breaking of them all. 

That situation was supposed to change in the academy. They were going to be in the same class for a whole year, so whether they wanted to or not, the four of them had to interact with each other. This was the time for them to talk, discuss things and support each other unconditionally like they did when they were young. He remembered them being together whenever Dimitri felt as if he wasn’t being good enough for a royal, when Ingrid worried about how thin her father looked compared to other lords, the times Felix would complain because of his father, or the occasions where Sylvain would arrive at their meeting spot with fresh bandages applied over himself or a cast, limping before either insisted on carrying him. It didn’t matter if they arrived with puffy eyes, a scowl or fresh tears tracks on their cheeks, they would leave with a burden off their shoulders, small smiles plastered on their faces. 

He didn’t expect things to be as simple as forgiving and forgetting about it all, they had different points of view on what had happened with the Tragedy of Duscur, and that something they all understood. They would never go back to those childhood days. However, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t create something similar, regardless of how long that would take.

Sylvain had high hopes for the school year. They increased when the new professor was assigned to their class after Dimitri and the other lords were almost killed by bandits — Felix thought no one saw him, but Sylvain didn’t miss the way his expression morphed into one of worry the second the prince came back to camp, before returning to his usual scowl — and everything started to change for the better. Winning the mock battle at the beginning of the year got all the lions to hang out together for the first time. And from then on they kept at it, acted like family towards one another within a few weeks. Or at least most of them did. 

He realized later than he felt enough at ease around Dimitri that he had teased him once about that time he gave a girl a dagger, he trained with Felix constantly, knowing that the man’s snarky remarks were only a way to hide how he cared about them all, even the so called ‘boar prince’, and Ingrid was his savior when he got into any kind of mess with girls. (Though he tried to keep that at a minimum after the time both of them had to run away from one of his ex’s furious father, the scolding she had given him that day still brought chills to his spine). 

The year was off to a great start, and it should have stayed that way… if things hadn’t gone sour as quickly as they became sweet. They were sent to kill Ashe’s father. The Professor became the owner of a dangerous and powerful relic. Sylvain had to kill the person who had been trying to do that very same thing ever since his family found out he had a Crest, his own flesh and blood. (It affected him more than he expected, and he could barely hold his facade together when the professor reached out to hug him). 

Days passed after that, moments that he remembered clearly because his friends hung on to him like leeches, Felix even tolerated the so called ‘boar prince’. They learned that chaos waits for nobody not even a month later. 

They met the Death Knight when Flayn went missing, and found out how strong he was when Felix charged ahead and Mercedes exhausted her magic in closing his wounds the best she could. Sylvain had never been so scared for the well-being of someone, not even himself — he was too busy figuring out how to survive the next day — but with Felix it was different. They made a promise, Felix _ couldn’t _break it. He didn’t think he would have panicked as much had anyone else gotten hurt. 

Perhaps Felix knew that. Or he remember their promise. Or maybe, he was just annoyed by how the ginger kept hovering outside his room, but his friend still invited him to sleep on the same room. The moment brought nostalgia with it, for it was another thing that they and their friends used to do when they were children. 

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion and their consequent victory lifted the spirits of the lions after the previous events. The three houses came together to celebrate with a banquet, and laughter echoed off the walls in the dining halls long into the night. Their teacher promised detention to anyone that mocked him about the way he ate his food after they gaped at him when it seemed as if they blinked and the food on his plate disappeared. But the smile on his face as he announced that had them all laughing. It had been a long while since the lions were this happy, and an even longer amount since the last time the childhood friends were smiling simultaneously. Sylvain went to sleep that day with the same smile, for once being granted a dreamless sleep. 

All good things come to an end, their peace couldn’t last forever. That much should have been expected. Tragedy followed their house constantly, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that it didn’t stop with their professor. He lost his home, his family, and now he had the blessing of a goddess. Don’t take him wrong, he was glad his teacher was alive, but he couldn’t imagine the burden that he carried on him. Sylvain already thought it was hard enough to be a noble, there were too many expectations, but to be a blessed hero? That had to be worse.

Nightmares weren’t a strange occurrence for him, in the good days he would wake up restless, hair a mess after the constant turning and tossing. In the bad ones— well, he found out when he had woken to Dimitri and the Professor shaking him awake, both of their looks full of concern even if they were laced with concerned, and a grumbling Felix standing next to his room’s broken door. The attack on the Holy Mausoleum and the following event surpassed every one of his night terrors. 

Dimitri went mad. Then the Professor disappeared, the last thing anyone heard from him being a scream; he couldn’t help but feel as if he had failed to protect them both. 

His home crumbled on their wake. 

* * *

He failed again not much later. 

Dimitri was considered a traitor to the people of Fargheus, all according to what Cordelia and the council had supposedly proven regarding his involvement with the Tragedy of Duscur. Sylvain didn’t have enough time to appeal that decision, none of the nobles could. 

Because of his inability to do anything, Dimitri— he was dead. 

The drops sliding down his cheeks weren’t out of his control, but the flow didn’t stop, no matter how hard Sylvain tried to make them. 

* * *

Birds chirped outside his window as the sun rose, he could feel the annoying rays of light heating his sheets and himself, but what woke him instead was the relentless pounding of his door. On instinct he looked around for the best place to hide, it wouldn’t take long before his brother finally broke the door —distantly he wondered what kind of pain he would be put through today— but the walls around him weren’t the same as those back in House Gautier.

He hurried to open the door of his room after he was done rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. A fuming Felix greeted him, and he gave the man a goofy smile in return, ignoring how his friend rolled his eyes. 

Sylvain’s eyes trailed to Felix’s lips, suddenly enraptured by the way he parted them to speak and maybe he shouldn’t have been paying that much attention to them, but he wouldn’t have believed the words spilling from his friend if he hadn’t just seen him speak. “Why the fuck are you always so late?”

The grin on his face disappears, he isn’t surprised by the question, but the vicious tone in his voice is what sends him reeling back. “What?”

Felix eyes narrow, his scowl replaced by a glare after he was done scoffing. “You couldn’t save him, the boar, and you couldn’t save me.” Every word seems to drip venom now, and Sylvain has to stop himself from flinching, he doesn’t know if the raw pain in his chest is because of the message itself or because this is Felix. He doesn’t get a chance to find out. “You can't save anyone... You’re late, Sylvain.” 

A question had just started to form at the tip of his tongue and then— blood. 

_ Felix’s blood. _

It splatters his face just as the lance of ruin pierces the man’s chest, and objectively, he knows that the wound is too deep, he knows that Felix didn’t go limp only because of the impact but Sylvain doesn’t stop trying to cast Heal on him. He hadn’t even noticed he was mumbling until he snapped his mouth shut just as his gaze lands on the person behind Felix, his hands holding the end of the weapon. 

Miklan stares back with a wide smile. It’s the same one he had given them all those years ago upon seeing who had gone in pursuit of him, and it doesn’t change even as he pulls the lance from Felix’s chest, his body crashing into a puddle of red with a deafening splash. He can’t take his sight of the corpse, swearing that only for a second he sees his friend choking on his own blood, right before his eyes trail and he notices other bodies spread around them. Ingrid’s hair is splattered with blood, Annette’s sweet face is locked in a terrified expression, Mercedes is still smiling and Ashe— No one is breathing. They’re all dead. His brother laughs, and the fact that this situation is pure amusement for him makes Sylvain sick. “Has anyone told you war doesn’t wait on anybody, little brother?”

He wakes up feeling breathless, cheeks wet. 

For the rest of the day he can’t help but run his fingers through his face, relieved when they come back clean. 

* * *

He would never go back to the days where he would drag Ingrid, Dedue and Dimitri to eat lunch with him. (The first time it was quiet, Dimitri and himself working hard to get the awkwardness away; it took five lunches for Dedue and Ingrid to even look at each other and nod). He wouldn’t get to read more of Bernadetta’s stories, he wouldn’t get to play an entertaining game of chess with Ignatz, or train with Caspar, or beg Lysithea to teach him reason magic. It was… impossible. 

The thought that one day he would wake up back at the dorm, Felix pounding on his door relentlessly because he was late for class, Ingrid and Dimitri waiting next to the greenhouse — even if Ingrid always walked in between one angry noble and a silent prince— was gone not too long after. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy get ready for next chapter i got too excited when writing it and it became abysmal


	2. dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry y'all this chapter was supposed to have been done like ages ago back in august but everytime i thought i was done my brain thought of more scenes to add, that said, enjoy  
thank you so much to the discord server for their help and to bell who helped me beta this monster :heart:

War was cruel, endless, and a cause for infinite misery. It changed people, some more than others. For him, that change had involved crying over a lost friend, losing a place that felt like home, then having to defend House Gautier with all his might, eventually not even blinking at the bodies that fell left and right. Fate was cruel like that. The Gautier territory might have been hell while Miklan was alive, but Sylvain still thought of it as his home. Regardless of how many scars the place had seen him get, a lot of memories with his chosen family had taken place in there, it help a special spot in his heart. Returning to help the Margrave also involved fighting alongside the Fraldarius troops, alongside Felix, both of them falling back with ease into that routine of watching each other’s backs, (“It’s not like we ever stopped.” The swordsman had murmured to him one night while keeping watch, his hood hiding half of his face. That didn’t stop the redhead from watching as his cheeks reddened, his breath becoming visible because of the cold as well), as they protected both their houses. It meant leaving their territories together because of a promise neither would break.

After all, if they broke one that was made five years prior, what was the guarantee they wouldn’t break one made on their childhood? Even if nobody showed up — because they were busy, not because they were  _ gone  _ — they would. 

To their surprise, they recognized the faces on their way to the Monastery. Perhaps the fact that it had only been five years since they had last seen each other played a role into it, his classmates were practically unchanged. The only exception being the scars and additional baggage they all carried. (Caspar thought nobody noticed how he gulped when he saw the imperial soldiers on the monastery’s path, Lindhardt hadn’t missed it. The hold he had on the warrior’s hand tightened). Regardless, Sylvain was just glad to see them alive and as well as anyone could be in these circumstances.

Happiness wasn’t something that came around easy these days, and he tried to hold onto it the moment that he saw his professor’s figure fighting the bandits approaching Garreg Mach. But rage still found a way to run through his veins — where the hell had Byleth been when they needed him? When countless of people died because they had no idea what to do or how to mimic his strategies, where was he? How was he alive? The only difference between then and now was that his hair was long enough that he needed to hold it up now, and his outfit was ragged and covered in dark splotches of dirt, but he still looked almost the same as he did five years ago. It wasn’t possible, just like how Dimitri being alive wasn’t possible. Either way, Sylvain couldn’t stop grinning. 

_ He hadn’t failed.  _

(The thought didn’t stop him from wanting to murder his professor the moment he told them all that he had spent the five years prior sleeping. For the following week or two he made no move to approach Byleth like the rest of the lions did, only if he was sought out. The man had left them alone for  _ five _ years. Those buried at the fall of Garreg Mach, and even later, wouldn’t come back now.)

War is an ugly thing, one could only go so long fighting to survive on their lonesome. Day after day of gruesome conflict, then desperate scavenging for food or shelter every time, before they snapped. That had happened to Dimitri, at which point in this catastrophe, Sylvain didn’t know. Not knowing didn’t stop him from grimacing as he thought about the prince who had always been kind, constantly asking if they were all right or simply spending time with them at the academy (and who was perhaps horrifyingly awful when it came to dates). That was the same prince who could barely stand to look in their direction now, strayed far away from them when not in battle, and scoffed whenever Mercedes or Linhardt healed his wounds. 

And yet, despite his attitude and commitment to do as he wished, even if the rest of the army didn’t follow his plan, on top of the isolation from them all, Dimitri was alive. His head was attached to his body, and for a while, it was all that mattered to them. 

* * *

Sylvain lays in one of the infirmary beds, most of his body wrapped up in bandages after Manuela says that he needs to let his wounds rest before she gets to healing him again. His mind is no longer spinning the way it had after he first arrived,his body still spasming due to the remaining effects of a well aimed Thoron,but a headache keeps his skull pounding. The feeling is strong enough that he almost misses the way the door bangs open and angry steps resound against the room, almost. Felix appears in his field of vision not much longer, glaring at him with so much intensity it’s remarkable he isn’t buried ten feet beneath the ground yet. 

He smiles — judging by Felix’s unshifting expression, he doesn’t do a very good job at it — as he tries to raise himself so that he’s sitting in the bed. He realizes that was a stupid idea the moment pain blooms at his side, making him squeeze his eyes shut (as if that will help him), and groan in pain. Not even a second after, hands are upon his shoulders, gently pushing him back down in contrast to the set of curses Felix says at his name. 

When he opens his eyes, he finds that the swordsman is not only glaring, but he’s openly scowling at him with a look in his eyes Sylvain can only describe as full of determination. His hands haven’t left his shoulders, instead tighten his hold on him just as Felix spits out words, as if it hurts him to even say it. “You didn’t have to jump in front of me and taken that hit, I was fine.” 

The statement makes him want to laugh, and he would if he wasn’t afraid that his ribs would complain too much about it, so instead the redhead simply shakes his head. “You were dealing with two assassins at the moment, no one expected the mage to show up and try to roast you alive. Even the professor was surprised. And I’m sorry, Felix, but you don’t have the reflexes or acrobatics Ashe has to avoid that.” He lets out a small chuckle by the end, trying to lighten the mood. And yet his actions only serve to make his friend look away from him, his shirt getting bunched around his shoulders now that his grip makes his knuckles turn white. Felix looks hurt, genuinely so, and Sylvain hates with passion that it is probably his fault. “Sorry, It’s just… I didn’t want you to get hurt.” 

With how fast Felix turns to glare at him, his eyes shining in a way they hadn’t before, his hair is left a mess, but that doesn’t seem to concern him or deter him from shaking Sylvain the same way Ingrid would when trying to knock some sense into him. 

“You  _ fucking idiot.  _ Stupid dumbass. _ ”  _ The word is said with such disgust that it surprises him, but not as much as what Felix says afterwards. “Do you know how much it would hurt me if you were to die? Reckless moron.” And then he’s resting his forehead against Sylvain’s chest, considerate enough to not press his entire weight against him, leaving Sylvain speechless. 

It takes him a moment to tentatively place his hand over the swordsman’s hair, the action bringing him back to their childhood where he would ruffle it just to spite him. And then he can’t stop himself from doing it, smiling at Felix when he raises his head to glance at him, an eyebrow raised in silent question. 

“I’m sorry… I…” he takes in a breath to gather his thoughts, hissing through the pain as he did. “Felix, it wasn’t my intention to make you believe I would break our promise. But I’m telling you now, I won’t let you lose another person that you care about. And Ingrid would have my head if I left her to deal with you alone.” 

He thinks that he sees Felix smile before there’s a sharp sting at his side, product of an elbow, and he wheezes out a laugh, his ribs complaining. He doesn’t care. It’s all worth it. 

* * *

The end of the Great Tree Moon came, and with it the rise memories of a mock battle led five years prior by their new teacher, who nobody thought would become an important person in their lives, and who they hadn’t thought would have such big of an appetite until they feasted in celebration. Unlike the past, this time the battle will and can kill them. (He sees many people who he once greeted in passing at Garreg Mach, he doesn’t have the will to kill them. He spots Dorothea, he knows how much the songstress means to Ingrid, he tells her to run and hide, to stay alive so Ingrid can see her. She says she’ll do her best.) As soon as these memories came back, they were overrun by death and a funeral as somber as the rain that wouldn’t stop pounding the roofs of Garreg Mach. 

One of the many girls he had once dated liked to say that without rain, there wouldn’t be rainbows. At the time, Sylvain was skeptical of the phrase; why would anyone want misery just to get their happiness? He had enough of that and gotten almost nothing in return. His perception of it changed when a soaked Dimitri — accompanied by their professor in the same state — stood in front of his army, asking forgiveness from them all and promising to do better. It was the first time in months that any of the Blue Lions had seen more than the tortured, ruthless and careless leader in the prince. It was the first time in years that they had seen their friend again. 

The rest of the night was a blur of muttered apologies, tears spilled, and longing looks across the room. Sylvain remembers Felix rejecting Dimitri’s own apology towards him, and himself saying that he would have forgiven Dimitri for those four months of insanity regardless if the prince apologized or not. 

* * *

It was a few weeks later that he found himself standing next to the open doors of the training room, his silhouette traced by the light coming from the moon overhead. Having woken after another nightmare plagued his dreams — close calls in war were more often than not, his brain had countless material to create vicious scenarios — Sylvain decided that checking up on his friends wouldn’t be a bad idea, seeing them sleeping in their own rooms would erase the image of them screaming as they fell. 

Felix was gone. Dimitri was gone. Ingrid was okay, and surprisingly awake so together they checked on all the Blue Lions, leaving the professor for last — he was sleeping, and if the maps around his bed were any indication he had stayed awake strategizing for a while. Their proximity to the Training Grounds was the only thing that allowed them to hear the thud of weapons clashing from inside. That’s how they ended up leaning against the wall, peeking as they watch the prince and the now Duke Fraldarius spend some time together. 

Felix and Dimitri had long since stopped training, the wooden sword and lance set in the ground beside them as they panted for breath. It was Dimitri who spoke first, “You… you fight just like… like he did.”

The comment sets off a chain reaction, he can hear Ingrid’s hitch in her breath at the same time that he sees Felix shoulder’s tense. His stance doesn’t chance for a moment, before he sighs and scoffs, Sylvain doesn’t need to have perfect sight in order to know that a glare is headed Dimitri’s way. “I know, you beast. But… I’m not him. I’m Felix Hugo Fraldarius. There’s… no one else.” 

If the prince was surprised, he didn’t show it, in fact, he could swear that the blond was smiling. “I understand that, I… Sorry Felix.” He sighs, and from then on the prince doesn’t look at his friend, keeping his sight downwards as if in shame. “You and Glenn couldn’t be more different from one another, at least on the surface. He…” Dimitri drifts off, and a moment later his hands — shaking so much the metal from his armor is squeaking — are moving to his hair, gold locks gripped in between his fingers. 

“I can still hear his ghost sometimes, taunting me,” a laugh is ripped from his throat, and it startles all of them. “Glenn sounds furious, saying that he died for nothing. I agree with him.” 

The statement chills them to the bone and Sylvain’s train of thought screeches to a halt, the implications of Dimitri’s words are not lost to him, and he’s reminded too quick of days when he thought that he was better off giving up the next time his brother tricked him. Ingrid’s hand on his shoulder makes him snap back to the present, she’s smiling when he turns back, a question raised in her eyes. He nods, feeling grounded after that display of concern, but before he can do anything else Ingrid is already stalking off towards Dimitri. Her heels clack on the ground, alerting Felix of her presence — and of his own, since he had decided there was no point in hiding if Ingrid had blown their cover, for good causes — but the prince is still looking down. 

Still, Ingrid is stubborn, and she’s undeterred, stopping at an arm’s length from their friend. “Dimitri,I apologize for disagreeing, but I’m proud that Glenn died like that.” The words have the prince flinching and he’s looking up, and Sylvain is sure that in Dimitri’s eye both remorse and disbelief can be seen as clear as the sky. 

Ingrid doesn’t yield. “Remember when we played together when we were kids? We used to play hide and seek in each other’s territories the whole time, and the first one found would be the next seeker. One day you and Felix hid in the Fraldarius armory, do you remember what happened, Dimitri? You fools knocked over a stack of lances when Glenn found you, and he got a gash shoving you out of the way. Everyone fussed over him, but I recall his smile more than the incident, he was  _ proud _ . Do you remember what he said?”

“ _ This is nothing. I would prefer getting a million scars and wounds over having any of you kids get hurt _ ,” Felix says, at some point during Ingrid’s talk having moved closer to them. “My father was so stupidly proud about that he wouldn’t stop repeating it for weeks.” He hesitates, crossing his arms, before he looks at Dimitri head on. “He was so honored by the way he died as well, even though it was stupid and reckless. But he protected you, and I’m… I’m glad you’re alive, boar prince.” Felix glares, as if doing that will get the point across better. It shouldn’t work, but the prince stops holding onto his hair, and they can all see his eyes light up. 

Sylvain shrugs after the silence goes on for too long, and watches his friends carefully as he gives them all a grin. “I never got along with Glenn as well as you, Ingrid, or Felix did, Dimitri. But you were there for me when I needed it the most, whether it was after another one of Miklan’s attempts or if I simply needed to chat, it didn't matter. You stood by me. Just like…” Sylvain trails off to perfect the details of the memory. “Remember when we were little and played this game where he had to save the princess, who was either always Felix or you because Ingrid was the most powerful knight the kingdom had ever seen? We relied on each other, shared the burden to rescue the princess from the evil dragon, which almost always ended in Glenn chasing us around the gardens.” Sylvain smiles, in a way that reserves for the people he trusts the most. He would have never smiled to a girl like this. 

“The point is, I want to stand by you too. And let me tell you, it would be hard to do that if you were dead. Plus the effort we made together helping you learn how to flirt would be put to waste. Although, I guess it pretty much was when you hid from a girl in my room and considered jumping out the window.” 

He can feel Felix glaring at him, and Ingrid is probably rolling her eyes, but what matters to him is seeing the prince smile, if only for a second, before his expression is filled with nostalgia. Silence fills the room with the exception of the occasional creak coming from his armor, at least until Dimitri shakes his head and stares at each of them. 

“Why don’t you hate me? Why are you so willing to stand by my side, even after all I’ve done? I have been a monster.” 

Ingrid shakes her head. “We promised to take care of each other because we were a family, as far as I know, you’re still a sibling to me. And your ideals haven’t changed much since you were a child, Dimitri.” She laughs, shaking her head at some other memory she recalled. “You still have that strong sense of justice everyone looked up to, and in one way or another, you still want to help everyone. Maybe it was wrong of you to execute revenge the way you were doing it, but now you’ve changed.”

“Plus, don’t think that we’re blind and didn’t notice you stepping in front of people every time they were about to get hit, or obliterating enemies just so they wouldn’t be able to get to someone who was hurt.” The words are out of his mouth before he can control them, but Dimitri turns to him with an indescribable look that makes Sylvain feel as if he said the right thing.

“You’re a moron. And still, you are our King. We follow you because we choose to, not because you make us. Make sure it gets into your small brain that no shadow or hallucination is telling you this, we are. We stand by your side, and so does the rest of the army. Embrace that and stand tall, Dimitri,” Felix says, and he flashes them a smile so quick it was gone even before they blinked. If it had been any other time, he would have laughed about that. 

But it’s almost two in the morning, war is near, and Dimitri has just calmed down from a panic attack, so he says the first rational thing that comes to mind. “Now that that’s over, and Felix talked about embraces… what about a hug? You guys remember we used to do that when we were children, like a family?”

None of them laugh or roll their eyes. Ingrid smiles in a way that reminds him of the sun, Felix doesn’t outright deny anything or stalk off, and Dimitri nods, not even wasting a bit before saying, “We’re still family, Sylvain. You have demonstrated as much today.”

They’re in their twenties, barely adults thrust into a war after having lost so much. Nobody can blame them if they let some tears flow free while in the arms of people they trust. 

* * *

They spend the next hour or so discussing memories. Ingrid fondly recalling the time Felix got his hand stuck in a vase, and they had tried to cheer him up by saying that a vase hand was cool and a very good weapon, ceramic hurt more than flesh after all, only for one of the maids to jokingly ask if the little master didn’t just have his hand open inside the pottery., Least to say, Felix refused to look at them all for hours after that. Present Felix Hugo Fraldarius rolls his eyes but smiles, and begins retelling the day that Ingrid got her hair stuck on a tree branch and everyone, being kids, had unanimously decided it was better to cut it off with the dagger Sylvain had instead of trying to untangle it. The blonde was actually happy with her hairstyle, but because Ingrid’s grandmother had scolded them all the redhead decided to cut his hair in the wildest way possible so their friend wouldn’t be the only one with bird hair. 

They talk about the things that have troubled them during and before the war as well. As always, Ingrid being the bravest one of them all and talking about how she was unsure about her role with her family, of how her dreams didn’t match the expectations from her father, about how she was terrified one day she would lose the family she chose as well as the one she was born into. No one tells her that wouldn’t have happened, nobody knows when an arrow or magic or a weapon will end them. Felix is brave enough next, even if he’s grumbling and barely looking at any of them as he tells them about the time he spent hating his father for his ideals, hating him for having dismissed his brother’s death like that, and wanting to be stronger so he wasn’t next. Which eventually became him wanting to make sure that everyone he cared about staying safe, he trained and pushed himself over a hundred percent so he could be strong and still the war made him know that he couldn’t save everyone. He talks about regretting the harsh words directed to his father before he died; and then he’s looking away, refusing to speak more about it. 

Yet his gaze turns back to them, something akin to understanding in his eyes when Sylvain mentions that he wanted to protect them all, too. Everyone he knew, including those who served House Gautier and died. He wanted to protect his friends, especially from everything that had happened to them. He relates with Ingrid and Felix in wanting to drop everything just to question the council in person, to demand a body. And Sylvain hesitates, but the redhead tells them about the dreams where everyone, including his brother, were safe, alive, and happy followed by nightmares where all he saw was death. Dimitri takes a long while describing how his time on the run was, tells them that he isn’t proud of the things he did — including the way he ended up with an eyepatch, the story isn’t pretty, it chills them to the bone — and how he hopes he can change and improve from the person he was, is, to someone better. 

At some point during the chatter they end up sitting on the floor, Sylvain leaning against Felix’s side while he’s next to the Prince, followed by Ingrid who has her legs draped over Dimitri. The later divulges them into the memory of Felix letting his hair grow out so he could match with them all, and how it was adorable when he got upset that it didn’t grow as fast as he had expected. (He doesn’t have to mention that Felix wanted to match Glenn’s hairstyle as well, they knew). And Sylvain himself tells them about the time Dimitri asked for tips and tried to give the professor some flowers for his birthday, only to chicken out and give him a letter instead — after he had thrown away the one poem Sylvain had suggested he write because he was also too embarrassed. He also makes a very dramatic presentation about how Dimitri now has the very same hair his professor had five years prior. They all laugh, and then Ingrid says that she’s surprised they aren’t together yet. 

Her words are followed by silence that isn’t overbearing nor tense like all those moments they had while they were in the academy. That, and their proximity allows them to hear Dimitri’s whisper quite clearly. “I’m afraid that I’ll end up hurting him.”

A scoff was his only warning before the prince was pushed, barely stopping himself from crashing into Ingrid. “You already have, you dumb boar.”

Ingrid’s eyes widened to which Felix only reply was an eyeroll and the crossing of his arms, a pose that all of them had become used to over the past months. “What? Isn’t this honesty hour? You  _ have _ hurt Byleth, you have hurt all of us, but like we said before, that doesn’t mean that neither of us wouldn’t stand between you and danger, Dimitri. Besides, wasn’t the professor the one that supported you the most while you were acting like an insufferable beast? Do you think he would leave even if you hurt him again? No.” 

Dimitri’s eye is wide with his surprise, but a chuckle leaves his throat and he nods. “Thank you, Felix, you may be right.” His words are met with rolling eyes and a grumbled “I am.” But his friend’s exasperation doesn’t stop him from speaking up. “I would prefer to wait, in any case, and I’m sure that I’m not the only one who is.”

Sylvain can’t help himself. His eyes move over to Felix and he watches as the man relaxes and smiles, that soft smile that makes his eyes shine, the one that you just know it’s genuine, and he feels himself becoming relaxed as well. When he turns back, Ingrid is watching him with a knowing smile.

The redhead doesn’t get any sleep that night, too busy thinking about the friendship he had recovered, one he had thought completely lost. Too busy replaying Dimitri’s words in his head. 

* * *

It isn’t surprising that the way to Fhirdiad takes them longer when they start reaching the deeper parts of the Kingdom, where snow makes every step harder than the last, clouds hide the sun, and the air brings a chill to their army. One wouldn’t think that the white landscape around them could be Fargheus if they have only seen the sunny grasslands at the borders with the Empire and the Alliance. It makes sense that the recruits coming from different nations are practically freezing, including their professor. 

He can see Byleth shiver even from several meters away, his shoulders shaking so much that his hair moves violently behind him. Then the snowstorm rolls and he’s shaking almost so violently and everybody has the ones walking over their horses, Mercedes hopping on his own — Luna neighs at the weight of two humans over her but doesn’t seem to mind that much after — and even she voices her concern of the man. As if she predicted the future, Dimitri turns back to Byleth, they talk and then his professor moves to be in front of the prince, the old cape sheltering them both from the cold. The healer behind him hums as if she’s thinking, then laughs. 

By the time that they reach a cave wide enough for them to take shelter in and form a camp to rest around, Mercedes has talked him and Ashe into searching the woods when the storm cools down for fur, has asked Flayn to help her with restorative spells, and convinced Ignatz to prepare some paints. 

A day before they march on Fhirdiad, they proudly present Dimitri with new armor; a cape that is just as big as the other one, despite the differences in the design, and armor as white as the snow around them with blue accents on its sides. He knows the prince recognizes it just as his eyes widen, after all, Felix and Ingrid had worked hard on trying to remember King Lambert’s armor, and Gilbert had corrected them when necessary. His eyes gleam as he smiles at them, nodding before he turns away. 

The next day as they attack Cornelia’s army in the capital, Dimitri no longers dons the black armor people had associated with a demon, and they feel as if they already won. 

* * *

The truth, if the words of a dying witch were to be believed, about the Tragedy of Duscur is something Sylvain had never expected to find out. He didn’t lose anything important during that war, his brother long gone before that ocurrance, but he knows what his friends had to go through, had to  _ see _ them going through them. And so he’s nothing more than shocked and concerned by the news.

Dimitri’s blade was the one who ended Cornelia’s life after Hilda’s attack weakened her, so Sylvain knows very well how the man reacted. The professor probably has more knowledge than he does, though. Ingrid hasn’t looked so sad ever since the day the love of her life perishes, leaving her dreams of wearing the most gorgeous white dress just that, a dream. And yet a mere hour later he catches her speaking with Dedue, a determined yet sad look at her face. He supposes she still remembers the way she treated their friend when they were teenagers, even if they both opened up to each other gradually, and he supposes that war has prepared her for misery, as harsh as that sounds, if she picks herself off that quickly. Regardless, they both appear to be smiling, so he assumes it all goes swimmingly.

Felix.

He wasn’t there with the main party when the news were delivered, he was to accompany Lysithea and Caspar to cover another area of the capital, and yet word travels fast amongst their army. The somber look on his face as they rendezvous isn’t surprising, nor is it the way he storms off after everyone is together and it still makes Sylvain’s heart clench like all the times the man has gotten hurt, or has wandered to close into the arms of death. It’s a similar sensation to the ache he feels when the swordsman interacts with Bernadetta or whenever he catches him and Annette cleaning the kitchen at Garreg Mach; but also completely different. He hates that Felix has to be reminded of the event that caused him to live in the shadow of another man. He loathes that it makes his friend stalks off as soon as he can. Sylvain does the only logical thing, and he goes after him. 

He finds the man amidst the palace gardens, sitting with his back to the fountain located in the middle. (They used to throw coins there when they were mere children, wishing for silly things. And it was the place Ingrid once pushed a lord’s child into the water after he mentioned how her father looked like a scarecrow). Felix isn’t looking at him as he approaches, too busy twirling a dagger in his hands, but he does spare him a glance when Sylvain sits down next to him, his armor creaking all the way. 

There’s no silence between them, the crickets, wind, and the water from the fountain making sure of that. And still they don’t say anything to each other for seconds, minutes, perhaps hours; Sylvain being content to keep his mouth shut until the raven decided it was okay to talk, Felix not knowing what to say. Until he did, shoving the blade on the space between them with a force so strong it was a wonder the metal didn’t bend in the moment. 

He picked it up, recognizing it in a few seconds merely by the intricate design of it. It was a rather unique dagger, and Sylvain had spotted it many times placed on the table besides the swordsman’s bed, sometimes untouched and dusty, sometimes a blade that sparked the most amongst everything else in his room. Unlike all those times ago, the redhead couldn’t help but ask. “Isn’t this dagger important to you?”

“It was my brother’s. It stopped being important a long time ago.”

The words are said with an anger that Sylvain is familiar with. Although it’s resentful, there is nevertheless sadness and nostalgia in his comment. “He’s dead,” Felix adds. 

“That doesn’t mean that something that was his can’t matter to you anymore,” he says without thinking it through, and at Felix’s questioning gaze, all he can do is sigh. 

“You know how I refused to use the Lance of Ruin for a while after my brother’s death. I don’t miss him anymore, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t think about him whenever I use it, it should have been his. It would have, if this world didn’t care so much about crests.” With a shake of his head, he starts to fidget with the dagger in his hand, just like the raven had done before. “My point is, it may not be important to Glenn anymore, or even to your father, but you’re still alive. You can care. And you clearly care about this if you’ve kept it this long. Just like it matters to you learning the truth about the people who killed him.”

Felix stares at him for a hot second that feels more like an hour — it was worrying, how the redhead could lose himself in the amber of his eyes — and then nods, accepting the dagger back when Sylvain places it back on his palm, their fingers brushing. Again there’s silence, and then he stands up, places the weapon back on its sheath, and offers him a hand. “I guess it’s great that the war we fight is against the puppeteers, then. We can cut the problem at its root.” 

Sylvain can’t help but grin as he took the swordsman hand, standing with his help. Both of them ignoring how their hold on each other lingered longer than it was necessary. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, and the Blue Lions will too, probably.” He laughs at Felix’s roll of eyes, and then he’s dragging the man away from the gardens, just in time to watch how Dimitri emerges from a balcony, the people screaming in joy at the sight of their beloved king. 

The sight makes him feel hopeful. It’s a strange feeling that makes his chest light and doesn’t allow him to stop smiling the rest of the night. 

* * *

The morning after the feast, they wake well rested after having slept in the castle’s guest rooms. Cordelia’s army must have surely not set even a step on it, for everything was the same as they remembered. However, neither of them had time to dwell too much on it, since not even an hour later the whole army was leaving Fhirdiad in a hurry just to get to Deirdru in time. Most of them were still half asleep, and all of them looked like a mess — besides Dimitri and the professor, who looked wary and concerned, and he didn’t blame them; getting a cryptic message from a war leader just as they had recovered the capital was odd. 

Then again, this was Claude von Riegan, and after playing game after game of chess with him during the whole year they were in the academy, Sylvain wasn’t surprised that the Lord had predicted who would win the battle. Or had been smart enough to have faith in them. 

The battlefield is a mess when they arrive, Imperial soldiers coming left and right and enclosing the alliance forces into a corner. Regardless of that, their allies are fighting fiercely and without fear, all to get their leader enough time to leave and as soon as the Kingdom forces become involved, the fight doesn’t last long, the opposing army shriveling quickly. After facing goblins and a mad witch, going against an army lead by an old guy in a horse is no match. 

Seeing most of the Golden Deer alive makes his friends sigh in relief, and those that had joined from said house are smiling from eye to eye. Ignatz and Lysithea run to speak to Raphael and Lorenz respectively, and he catches Hilda running to launch herself in the arms of Claude — he catches her, and they stare at each other with wide smiles while the wyvern lord runs her fingers through his hair — just as the professor and Dimitri return from talking to him, the latter carrying a bow that resembled the Lance of Ruin and Luín in structure. He doesn’t ponder much on why they have Claude’s relic, he’s too busy watching Leonie punch the back of Felix arm, and they both grin at each other before she’s pulling him into a quick hug. Sylvain can’t hear the whole conversation from the place he’s in, but he does hear the swordsman mention something like ‘spar partner’ and then moments after he’s saying Marianne’s name. He knows something is wrong the minute the girl’s face falls. 

Before Felix can even ask what happened, Leonie’s eyes stray away from him and past Sylvain, looking right at the direction the prince and Byleth are coming from. “You!” She screams, pushing past Felix and running until her hands are grasping the professor’s shirt, creases forming around her fingers. “Where have you been all this time?!” 

The ginger is glaring so hard that he’s surprised Byleth isn’t seven feet under by now, and yet Leonie can’t hold back the tears that are pooling in her eyes. Her next words are mixed with sobs, and it hurts even him, who had almost never interacted with her, to see her like this. 

“Everyone said you were dead after the monastery, but you’re here and you have turned the war around so quickly! Did you waited until many bodies and people had perished in your absence? Was it enjoyable to you to watch us all suffer until we got to the point of no return, like Marianne did? Answer me!” She shakes Byleth like a sack of potatoes, refusing to stop even when the man places his hands on top of hers. 

“Professor, if you can even dare to call yourself that, it’s your fault Marianne stopped fighting! She ran straight to the fight and let herself be stabbed to death, and it’s all your fault! You’re to blame for those we couldn’t save because war was never taught to us, and it shouldn’t have.” With that, she finally lets Byleth go and storms off. 

Leonie had said everything that Sylvain had thought the last few months and he would have been lying if some part of himself didn’t find pleasure in the way Byleth stood frozen, at least until Dimitri was talking to him, probably trying to comfort him. 

In some other world, maybe he would find himself screaming and threatening their professor because of the many friends that perished in his absence. The pang of pain the idea sends him isn’t pleasant, but he guesses that must be how Leonie feels constantly, Marianne was probably as close to her as Felix is to him. 

(The rest of the Golden Deer, besides Claude, and including Leonie, join them on their return to the monastery. The ginger doesn’t apologize to the current leader of the church for her words, but she does tell him that they’ll work together because doing that is the best option for them to win the war, and then she makes another jab at the professor’s absence, because bitterness doesn’t go away that easily). 

* * *

They decide to end the war for good. Now that the Alliance dissolved and the territory was practically annexed to Fargheus, they have more troops. The army is more than strong enough to take Enbarr and cut the problem at its root. Therefore, they progress faster, but that doesn’t mean that Fort Merceus doesn’t give them any problems. He catches Caspar running with a bloodied Ashe to where Linhardt is, but he doesn’t get the time to find out what happened with them before he’s dodging the constant Bolganones a mage is launching on him. He’s extremely relieved his clothes don’t get caught on fire, and that someone behind him throws a thoron spell at the mage, finally ending their assault. 

He grins back at Lysithea, and they nod to each other before splitting up. She’s probably going to tie loose ends. Leaving to make sure that anyone in trouble, like he himself was, is no longer in that situation. She could also just be going to make sure Cyril is alright. Sylvain, on the other hand, runs back to his beloved Luna and with its help, he quickly catches up to the front lines, just in time to see Felix barely dodging the Death Knight’s scythe. His attention is then pulled to Dedue taking the opportunity to run from behind, carrying an axe on his hand. The battle ends after the Duscurian hits the Death Knight on the back of his neck with the hilt of the weapon, and their enemy collapses so quickly that it’s a wonder he’s just knocked out. 

Sylvain knows their enemy — Was Emile even one the last few months? He had engaged only those that came too close to him — isn’t dead because Mercedes doesn’t scream. She doesn’t let out miserable sobs as she runs and kneels next to the dark knight, taking off his helmet and waving a quick heal over whatever injury he had. Instead the blonde smiles, tears streaming down her eyes and she turns to Dedue to whisper her thanks.

He’s so happy for Mercedes, even if it means that they have to carry a half unwilling Emile with the rest of their injured troops. And still, deep down he wonders if he could have done anything similar, anything at all, to save Miklan. 

* * *

“You know this means you can’t go around calling me a reckless fool now, right?” 

Felix groans and promptly hisses when that action causes one of his injuries to ache. Sylvain can’t help but chuckle, even if a second later he’s shaking his head to the man’s antics. “Stay still,“ he mumbles, making sure to cast a heal on the open wounds. Most of them scar, and the few injuries that don’t are the ones Sylvain covers with bandages, until the swordsman has a pair of straps going around his torso.

“Honestly, Fe, how could you have been so dumb to try and take five guys at once? And then you jumped and took a hit that was meant for me.” He traces the edge of a bandage with his fingers until his attention is pulled away by the scars. Sylvain used to know how every single one of them had happened, had even patched his friend more than once. Now he has more marks on his body that he would have wished, and the scars from his childhood have long been replaced by those of war. Felix has all kinds of them on his torso, from stabs, axes, arrows, and if their healers had been slower perhaps he would have marks from fire spells as well. 

Sylvain sighs and shakes his head once again, ignoring the glare the swordsman sends his way as he presses both his hands against Felix’s cheeks. “You’re so reckless. Do you not remember how I told you that avoiding blows is not your forte? Do you know how I would have felt if you were killed? And what would —”

He’s interrupted by hands enclosing against his own, and cannot help but stare as Felix pries them away from his face and shoves them down towards his lap. “Shut up already, you dumb carrot.” If the peculiar insult wasn’t enough to catch his attention, the man not letting his hands go  _ was. _

“I— No. We made a promise together, Sylv.” And then Felix’s hands drop his own, only to rest on Sylvain’s cheeks, mimicking the same move that the ginger had done on his friend just moments before. Felix leans closer, making sure that Sylvain’s eyes are focused on his own — not like the ginger would ever look away, his eyes are too captivating, he could drown in that amber ocean — until their foreheads touch. (They’re so close. Sylvain is acutely aware he could just lean in and press his lips against Felix’s if he wanted to. He doesn’t.). “I don’t intend to break that promise. I don’t want to die now and I… would fucking hate if  _ you _ died so you could stick to our vow.”

Then Felix is pulling away, cheeks flushed and arms crossing over his chest in a flash. It’s the second time Sylvain’t can’t help but laugh. 

He hopes they have more moments like this. Especially after the war. Now, they’re just soldiers, pawns to be used in what is hopefully the best move. After, they could be anything they wanted to and say whatever they wished to.

* * *

Enbarr causes them more problems than what they had expected. Mainly because they’re struggling to balance not hurting the Adrestian civilians that are still trying to flee and fighting back against the Imperial soldiers and demonic beasts. Honestly, it’s like the goddess is trying to make their whole existence miserable. Ingrid almost died when she was fighting a beast alongside Cyril and an assassin had sneak up behind them, bow ready. If the professor hadn’t alerted Annette with a desperate cry, they would have had to bury his best friend.

They make it out of there with no casualties on their side. However, he can’t comment on the enemy’s, knowing the amount of bodies that hit the ground because of his magic and lance, knowing how it was impossible for them to pass without killing Hubert — not that many regretted that — and having seen desperate civilians risking their lives by running in front of demonic beasts, only to end up squashed by said monsters. 

It isn’t surprising that the castle gives them more trouble, after all, it's the Empire’s last stronghold. They’re immediately separated to cover more ground, and Sylvain doesn’t know about the other two parties, but the path of his own was full of demonic beasts and mages. For some reason Dimitri and some others have to start dodging projectiles coming from far away. The mages were ruthless and would not stop attacking, at least until one of Bernadetta’s arrow hit and weakened one of them, whose retreat caused the rest to scramble. That doesn’t stop projectiles of magic from coming.

They have to fell two Demonic Beasts and the bunch of soldiers like warrior and snipers that keep coming after them before they reach the throne room. And what awaits them is… something that nobody could have ever expected. He catches Dimitri flinching before he has to dodge magic again, and they finally understand who it was that kept throwing spells. Edelgard is horrifying, she’s a demonic beast, but at the same time, she isn’t. 

Annette throws cutting gale after cutting gale at her, Hilda, Caspar and Felix are attacking her head on, their battalions fight against her, there are arrows hitting every piece of her skin and she still won’t die. It’s far more difficult for people to dodge her attacks now, and with the limited space, some can’t. Mercedes is probably exhausting her magic already. 

And then he sees something that makes his blood run cold. 

Felix is too busy helping Leonie up after she tripped while dodging to see the monster’s claw coming down on him. He won’t be able to dodge even if he sees it. It’s too close, he won’t make it. Sylvain knows this, he has told him that he doesn’t have the skills so many times. 

So Sylvain runs, stops thinking as he wills himself to go faster and faster. (Because if he doesn’t, he will lose another person and he can’t let that happen). And then he’s pushing Felix out of the way, making him crash against the very same person he was trying to help. 

He only has time to flash a smile as he sees the horrified look on Felix’s eyes when he whips his head around, before something as sharp as a million daggers is digging into his side and pushing him off the edge of the throne. The fall feels longer than it should have been, wind hitting Sylvain’s face and sides before he crashes down, the remaining air he had squeezed from his lungs. 

_ Everything hurts.  _ He’s certain more than one thing on his body is broken. His breathing is ragged and it feels wet. His clothes feel sticky with what he guesses is blood. But Sylvain can’t focus. 

It’s as if he’s having an out of body experience, distantly, he can hear someone screaming his name. He sees a blurry figure leaning over him, and he feels how his lips are being parted and an elixir is shover in between his lips, but he can’t react. He closes his eyes as the figure over him starts to shake his body. There’s something nagging him to stay awake. He can’t. He’s  _ so _ tired.

* * *

… 

He didn’t think that Miklan would extend his hand towards him when the time came. 

He supposes hell suits them both. 

* * *

And then he’s on the battlefield again, he’s standing on the ruins of Garreg Mach that are crushing many of his classmates; then on Gronder, the fortress in the middle burning while Bernadetta is still on top of it, and then he’s on Fort Merceus, watching Linhardt and Caspar slumped against each other, blood pooling at their sides. And finally, on the cold snow of the Gautier territory, except the landscape isn’t white, the snow he’s crushing under his boots is crimson red, and it all comes from a pile of bodies on the floor. 

The Blue Lions. 

The sight reminds him of one dream... no, a nightmare that he had long ago, a scenario that had rattled him for days. Made him so angry and miserable that he threw himself into the war without compassion for anyone or anything, not even himself. It still rattles him, only because he’s acutely aware that something like this could have happened at any point in time. Something that could still occur. 

He could lose his family faster that he could expect. 

As if on cue, one of the corpses rises from its spot at the top of the pile, and if the common steel lance wedged on its chest wasn’t enough to recognize it, he would still know Miklan’s face anywhere. Sylvain still remembers the sickening sound the man turned beast’s flesh made when the youngest Gautier thrusted the lance against him, remembers how it fell before dissipating, leaving only his brother, a dead man, behind. 

The ginger tries his best to grin, his hands going to the back of his head like they did whenever he tried to pretend a false sense of security, one that nobody had ever been able to know was fake. “Guess I owe you a lot of explanations now, brother.”

* * *

“— vain. Sylvain.”

He wakes up with a sharp intake of air that makes his lungs burn, followed by a coughing fit caused by god knows what. There are hands on him, one holding his back while the other brings cup of water closer to his lips. He drinks it greedily, as if he was a man on a desert with the only oasis in miles at his feet, the liquid making his throat feel immensely better. 

It isn’t a shock to see that it’s his professor who’s helping him out, but at the same time, he would rather have Mercedes, Manuela, or even an asleep Lindhardt with him. (Dimitri, Felix or Ingrid too. His friends aren’t healers, but he would still love for them to be here). He doesn’t hate Byleth. He dislikes him with such passion that others may call it hate. The ginger can’t forgive a man who spent his time sleeping while war was waged, and who never had to suffer because of the things given to him. 

“Are you feeling better?” He hears the man ask, and turns to look at a pair of mint eyes before nodding. Byleth nods back, and he wordlessly sets the glass in a table to their side, before sitting up in the corner of Sylvain’s bed. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t do more for your brother.” At the ginger’s questioning glance, the tactician sighs and averts his eyes. He opens his mouth a couple of times, as if he’s hesitating what to say. “You were talking in your sleep.” 

This time, it’s Sylvain’s turn to sigh and look around the place as if it’s interesting in anyway (He can tell right away that he’s in a tent, so at least it hasn’t been enough time for them to go back to Fhirdiad or the monastery). His professor waits patiently, fiddling with a loose strand of his hair, and he supposes he can be a bit sincere with him. “Miklan left his status as my sibling long ago. And, there’s no guarantee that he would have been a better person if he had been saved. He didn’t care about the lives that he destroyed during his time as a bandit, he wouldn’t have cared after.” 

Byleth stares at him for a long time, so long that it starts to make him uncomfortable, before nodding. “I suppose.” And then, as if he senses the mood or he also wants to change the subject, he says, “We didn’t know if you would wake up. You fell quite a few meters and the impact made your ribs and legs crack, Mercedes told me they found you with one of them poking out of your skin. And then you got a fever, we were all very worried.” 

He shudders, and Sylvain can see his fists clenching by his side. He supposes that even if they have a strained relationship, it must still hurt the professor to see any of his previous students hurt. “Mercedes and Linhardt healed what they could, but please don’t strain yourself. Your bones should be mended, but I don’t think the wound Edelgard gave you has fully closed.” 

With the way his chest aches every time he breathes, that makes sense. It also gives a reason for the bandages wrapped over his chest to be there. “How much time has passed?”

“A day. We won.” Byleth lets himself smile, and it reminds Sylvain of the same gesture he has caught the professor giving the crown prince of Fargheus. 

Silence ensues around them. The only sounds coming from the light, almost imperceptible, crackle of fire coming from the oil lamps around them, and the flapping of the edges of the tent. The lack of light makes it known that nightfall is already here, no one must be awake by now. He doesn’t doubt that at least Ingrid fell asleep full of concern. 

And yet he can’t pay much attention to that, there’s something else nagging at him that he has to say. “Professor.” 

“Yes?”

“I dislike you.” His professor tries to dissimulate it, but he can’t hide the way this affects him, the flinch, from someone who has been hiding part of his personality his whole life. 

“I know.” The smile was gone from his face now, but he still looked at Sylvain, as if he wished for him to understand he was truthful. “I regret taking so long. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you when I should have.”

He doesn’t tell Byleth that that’s okay, it isn’t, and the man knows that already. Yet hearing that he regretted it made him oddly calm. “If you could, would you have changed anything about the war?”

This makes his professor avert his eyes from him again, looking ahead with something that Sylvain can only describe as deep longing, nostalgia. The ginger swears that he hears Byleth whisper something along the lines of not being able to go that far, but it’s so low he can’t be certain. “I would have tried to stop the war by going after Edelgard myself. Never would have allowed you kids to get involved, no matter how stubborn you were.” 

The idea of the ex-mercenary, who was barely older than them, leaving on his own to fight the whole imperial army causes him to chuckle. Of course Byleth chooses the most reckless option. If that had happened, the war would have been worse and, back then, nobody would have let him leave just like that. Specially— “Dimitri. He wouldn’t have liked that.” Hell, his crazed state would have probably made him just as reckless.

It’s Byleth’s turn to laugh, “I know that too. He would have hated me, but he’d be safe. The rest of you as well.” He doesn’t mention himself, they both know that if the professor had done that, he would not have come out alive. The man in question scoots over to him, until he’s close enough to grip one of his hands in both of his. “I’m sorry Sylvain, I hope one day you’ll forgive me.” 

“Maybe I will, professor. Over a drink or two, perhaps,” he mumbles out, and for once, it’s not a lie. Byleth smiles at him again, and with that said, he stands up and heads over to one of the oil lamps, set in the corner of the tent. 

“We march back tomorrow, so get some rest. Many people will want to see that you’re okay.” The man leans to turn the lamp off, and heads towards the way out, his cape brushing against the ground with every step. He stops right in the entrance, his long hair swishing behind him as he turns his head just enough to stare at him. “Felix, specially. He had to be dragged away to leave you alone. You might want to say something to him, and afterwards perhaps you could say the truth about your feelings. Clear whatever is going on between you two.”

Sylvain doesn’t know how Byleth knows, and a denial leaves his lips on automatic. “Felix and I have—“

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, Sylvain, and the way he looks at you. I’m not blind, so don’t lie to me.” And with those final words, the teacher walks away, leaving him with a bunch of thoughts scattered in his head. 

It’s kind of funny to him how he could notice the way Sylvain looks at someone, when Byleth cannot notice how Dimitri looks at him. 

It’s hilarious that Sylvain could have missed any way Felix looked at him when he had been looking for signs for years. (Or perhaps he had caught it, simply didn’t want to believe it). 

* * *

He wakes up the next morning under the scrutiny of four gazes, two of them glaring at him and the other two relaxing the moment he groans as soon as he tries to stretch. (He supposed they must all think of him as an idiot for having forgotten he was hurt). One of the latter, Ashe, grins at him before saying that he will fetch one of the healers, and the other three haven’t stopped watching him. 

Neither of his childhood friends has uttered a word even when Linhardt arrives, sleepy but still managing to wave a spell over him and pass him an elixir. It’s only after he has drunk it that he realizes just how much he needed that, Sylvain can feel himself breathing better. And then Linhardt is trusting a pair of bandages into Felix’s hands, and leaves after asking the ginger to have some caution. 

Silence. It flutters around them again without someone else to break it, and for the love of the goddess, he has had enough. “You guys get your tongue bitten by mice or something? Or did something so awful happen to my face that neither of you can mention it?” He chuckles, “I mean, people will still be interested in me because of my Crest, so I’m not that concerned.”

That, at least, seems to get a response from all of them. Ingrid frowns, her arms crossing over her chest the same way they would after he had just told her about his last fling, Dimitri grimaces and parts his lips to speak, but is interrupted when Felix throws his recently acquired bandages at Sylvain’s chest and words come flowing out of his mouth. 

“You fucking, idiotic, piece of shit. Has it occured to you that stupid pigs can’t fly?” Felix walks closer, until he’s holding Sylvain by his collar and bringing his face closer to his own. His eyes narrow when Dimitri mentions his name as a warning, but they don’t leave Sylvain’s, and the swordsman simply shakes his head. “No, you dumbass boar, this idiot has to understand. Sylvain, you would have died if it had not been for this Lorenz’ guy idea to shoot a wind spell underneath you. Your head would have smashed so hard against the ground that there would have been nothing to salvage. And all for what, you fucking carrot?” 

If the situation was different, he would have laughed at that last insult, but alas, it isn’t. He doesn’t know what to tell Felix, but the answer to that question is staring right at him. “For you. I hate to see you hurt, Felix,” he whispers, low enough that only the people close to them could have heard. 

His reaction isn’t instantaneous, but it doesn’t take long before Felix yanks his hands back and moves away, face red with anger. Seconds later he’s storming off, insults flowing like a river from his mouth, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The three left stare at him until they can’t even see his silhouette, and then Ingrid sighs and takes his place. 

Then she hesitates, her hand half outstretched between them, before it seems as if she makes up her mind. Ingrid carefully wraps her arms around him, bringing him forward until he can properly lean his head against her shoulder, and it makes him reminiscence about all the times they’ve done this before. When they were kids since they used to be just as tight as Dimitri and Felix were. But the moment is over before he can dwell too much on it, and the prince swoops in to sit on the other side of his bed. He and Ingrid work together to change Sylvain’s bandages, all of them knowing the injuries will leave more scars that they can count. Marks that will cover the ones made before. 

It kind of feels like an end, and a beginning. 

* * *

Soon after they marched away, disbanding the camp they had made just outside the previous capital of the Empire, (he supposes now that this land belongs to Fargheus as well, and he wonders how Dimitri will handle ruling over such a large and vast territory. It’s likely that he’ll leave their own lands to the nobles that had joined their side, like Caspar and Bernadetta). And it is both odd and thrilling to see no trouble, no soldier jumping from behind trees or winged demonic beasts descending upon them on a flash. 

Their troops walk calmly to the side, no longer afraid that they will be ambushed when they least expect it; the battalions are chatting amongst each other like they always used to, back on their academy days, and the birds are chirping a merry tune. It feels as if they had returned from a journey across the sea, laughing and cherishing fun memories. It would look like that too, if it weren’t for the blood some have on their armor, or the places in between armor and clothes where bandages peek through and the fact that they have two wagons carrying dead and wounded respectively. 

Ingrid rides on her pegasus instead of making it soar through the skies, looking for distant enemy camps, and Sylvain rides Luna just besides her. They keep a comfortable silence, unlike the rest of their friends ahead of them. Dimitri and Byleth are riding at the very front, both of them looking at each other instead of ahead while they speak. Dedue for once is not next to his liege, instead helping Mercedes out with the wounded caravan. The ruckus that some of his friends are causing catches his attention next. And it’s not surprising to see Felix, Annette and Ashe, who seem to be discussing something embarrassing, for not even twenty seconds later Felix is looking away, his cheeks bright and eyes narrowed. They make contact with Sylvain’s before Annette gets his attention again. 

Ingrid pulls his focus away from Felix when she says his name, and he can’t help but think it’s a mirror of what he just witnessed. “Back at the beginning of the Academy year, more or less… Do you remember that rainy day, after the professor made us go after one of my marriage proposals? When you showed up to my room soaking wet but grinning from ear to ear?” She doesn’t let him think about the answer, even though he knows he’s familiar with what she’s saying; Ingrid keeps talking. “The day you proposed to me.”

Ah. 

He remembers doing something of the sort, but his memory is unclear. Mostly because it was one of the nights he had allowed himself to get more than a little tipsy in the town bar, while he was out looking for someone to deal with him for the next couple of hours. He remembers coming across a couple of girls, who complimented him but otherwise said they were busy, that there was someone waiting at home for them since it was already too late. Nobody was waiting for him back at his home. His friends could have, in another timeline where neither of them had the wrong idea of him, and where no one had issues with each other. Moments after that are more of a blur, but Sylvain remembers stumbling up to the second floor of the dorm, knocking Ingrid’s door as if it was killing him to be outside, and the same blonde opening the door. He interrupted her sleep, and she was mad. 

The redhead can’t help but chuckle, those days were far behind them and nobody got as much rest as they did before. If he happened to do something like that again, Ingrid would murder him. “Let’s see... I remember you scolding me for getting the floor wet, then throwing a towel at my face and letting me in regardless.” 

The comment was a huge brush off of what she had said before, but Ingrid still smiles, even as she shakes her head. “I did. And then you spent an hour telling me about the bar and the town, trivial nonsense that you came up with while you were drunk. We spent an hour like that, and then you saw the letters from my father.” 

He nods, and the blonde keeps talking. “I remember that you got incredibly silent then, and you said you hated how it was always parents that decided the fate of their children. I had seen you say something similar so many times, Sylvain, but never with such a heartbroken face.” Ingrid lets go of the reins of her pegasus, Cordelia, to reach out and grab one of his hands in hers. “I didn’t even have time to say anything before you said you would marry me if it meant that a fate like that didn’t occur to me.” 

Her words are like a tonic, something akin to one of those elixirs that would be distributed around after battle so that troops could treat their injuries without energy. They soothe him, and help him remember the scene clearer, ah, right. He squeezes her hand in his for a moment before grinning. “And then you called me an idiot. Because I proposed even if seconds later I told you that I wanted you to be free to do and love who you wanted, without anyone else having a say in it.”

He can’t help his mood, the smile that appears on her face is so contagious. She squeezes his hand, and looks ahead even if her lips part with a message directed to him. “I’m glad I rejected the offer, even if it took me a while to understand it was only your way of helping out. Although that doesn’t mean all that skirt-chasing was alright, Sylvain. And…” Ingrid hesitates, her tongue twisting around words that are unknown to him. 

The blonde turns back to him a second later, a determined look in her eyes, obvious even if the blush that cover her cheeks pops up as well. “I guess I should probably tell you I’m rejecting that offer completely. Neither of us would have been as happy as we are now. I found someone, to love and who will love me, just like you should. So why do you keep going around circles with Felix?”

What. 

Did he just hear that correctly? 

In retrospect, Sylvain panics. He ends up mumbling word after word without really thinking it through, like he hadn’t done in forever. “Ingrid, he doesn’t wish for that. And even if he did, he’s a fool. He will get killed... He’ll leave one day and won’t come back and the only notice that I’ll ever get will be a broken sword back, that can’t happen. I don’t want that to happen, I wouldn’t even be able to take it.”

He takes a deep breath, and opens up his mouth to let another barrage of nonsensical words flow out, before Ingrid puts a stop to that idea by talking first. “Sylvain, you can’t be anything but a fool yourself if you truly believe that. Do you think Felix only thinks about battle?” She doesn’t even need to make a pause before he’s shaking his head. “I thought as much. Felix isn’t incapable of emotions, Sylvain. He knows what’s important in his life, that’s why he always gets so angry with anyone who gets hurt while at their side, or in your case, while trying to protect him, he doesn’t want anyone he cares about to die again. And… you didn’t see him after you fell, but practically nobody could drag him off your side, he kept screaming at you to wake up. It was the worst I had ever seen him since Glenn.” 

Hearing that is shocking news to him, he hadn’t expected that from Felix, or from anybody if he was telling the truth. The fact that people care enough about him, that his friends care enough after the facade he keeps pulling sometimes brings a laugh out of him. He would feel like crying if the situation wasn’t so absurd. “Thank you, Ingrid. I… I’m glad you found Dorothea — don’t look at me like that, you were obvious — although this doesn’t mean that I will ever stop loving you.” 

It’s her turn to laugh, “I love you too, brother.” She rolls her eyes now, letting go of the hand that she had taken and signaling ahead, towards the rest of the general’s location. “Now, go get Felix, you have both waited for too long to be happy.”

Happiness, huh. For once in his life, he actually believes in a message like that. Sylvain turns ahead, a grin so present on his face the corner of his eyes crinkle. Same eyes that find Felix’s only seconds later. 

He can’t describe the emotion on the man’s gaze, but it makes his smile widen. 

* * *

The people are awaiting them on the streets when they return, three days after the head of the Adrestian Empire and the army was slain. They come out of their houses to greet them, cheer the army on as they head towards the castle. Many ladies thank them for their services, children look up in awe, and the senior citizens look tired but even they smile or hand over flowers and fruit to the troops, and all because they came out victorious. 

It’s overwhelming to think that in some other reality, Fargheus would have been in the ruin, and yet the Kingdom now controls all of Fódlan. It’s even more shocking to him that all of his friends and loved ones came out of this war alive, sure, they might have gotten more scars than needed — him included — but everyone is safe and alive, and that is what matters. 

Dimitri is alive.

Ingrid is alive.

Felix is alive, and he’s walking besides Luna and himself. He had refused to ride a horse long ago, and Sylvain was sure that his feet were killing him, but Felix kept walking, always looking forward. In any other instance Sylvain would have joked that perhaps he was afraid of getting thrown off by the animal because of his temper. But this was different, they had just made something like peace with each other, although his friend still wouldn’t talk that much to him. Maybe he had their previous conversation in mind, maybe he was thinking about how he was to be recognized as the official duke of Fraldarius after Dimitri was officially coronated, whichever it was. the redhead was sure it was stressing. 

In his case, he kept repeating the events from the previous night over and over in his head, as if he had been reading a novel with identical pages from end to beginning.

_ The moon shone brighter than the fire they had lit as they set up camp. Byleth and Dimitri having deemed that advancing any further would be too much, especially since they were about to enter the colder areas of Fargheus. Most people had gone to sleep already, with the exception of some battalion troops currently gambling and drinking in a corner of their camp, and some of his friends scattered around camp. Mercedes was taking care of those wounded and talking incessantly to her brother — who seemed to have settled down rather quickly, too much for his liking — Ashe seemed to be discussing a book with Cyril and Dimitri and Felix were sitting on the log across from Sylvain’s, both keeping a quiet conversation until the prince steps away and heads over to one of the tents placed around. Felix does the same thing, and Sylvain wastes no chance in following him. They need to talk, after all.  _

_ It doesn’t take that long for Felix to notice him, not when his tent flaps open a second time and the sound echoes around the small space. “What are you doing here?” Is the question that he asks when he turns around and spots him.  _

_ Sylvain smiles at him, shrugging and placing his hands behind his head. He can’t let his nerves get to him now. “We need to talk, Felix.” _

_ “We have nothing to talk about you stupid moron. Or what, did you come to tell me the night sky is so pretty just like my eyes, like whatever you tell girls and other people?” His words might have been full of anger, but the tone and stance doesn’t convey any of that. In the past, something like that might have hurt him, today, it lets him know that Felix is hurt too. The swordsman sits over in his bed, arms crossed over his chest, and Sylvain takes the opportunity to sit next to him. He doesn’t think he could handle seeing Felix’s face all the time — noticing all the details of his expressions and body language, if the conversation does allow him to say what he has planned. _

_ “First of all, ow, I haven’t done anything like that in a long while. Second, no, Felix, I’m not there for that. I’m here to talk about what happened during the last battle… I’m sorry.” _

_ He risks glancing to his side and looks away almost instantly, the glare in the raven’s eyes isn’t as strong but it has been partially filled with something like sorrow, it makes his chest ache. He feels and hears the man move beside him, the rustling of sheets making it all the more evident, and then he’s talking. “Apologizing does not erase the fact that you almost died. How many times have I told you that would pain me, Sylvain? We made a promise and you keep trying to break it, we’re supposed to protect each other, not you protecting me and putting yourself in danger because of some stupid complex an idiot like you may have.” _

_ The redhead can see from the corner of his eye how Felix keeps fidgeting with his hands, a trait that he had developed as a child when he was angry and had never lost, he’s hesitating, and Sylvain know he’s not supposed to say anything here. Finally, the raven sighs and lets his words flow out once more. “I don’t need to see more and more people that I fucking care about dying. You can’t die without me, or I’ll just bring you back to end you myself. You don’t get to decide whether you live or not and whether you put yourself in danger or not, it’s not that easy, you buffoon.” _

_ For the second time on that day, words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “But it is easy, Felix. If I were to decide which of us lived to see another day in a second, I would choose you. I would always choose you. I care for you, Fe. Caring — no, loving people is what makes dying easy, what makes it worthy. And I love you. I would give my life for yours every time.” _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Fuck him and his stupid mouth. 

_ He doesn’t have to look to know that Felix is silent because of his shock and perhaps because of apprehension as well. Oh Goddess. Sylvain only wishes he could turn back time to stop himself from saying that. His friend is going to hate him, the exact opposite of what Ingrid and Byleth had predicted — and then his thoughts come to a halt when Felix’s hands turn his face around to look at him, later wrapping his arms around Sylvain’s waist, while Felix’s forehead leans over his shoulder. He can’t think straight. _

_ The moment is over just as quick as it started, and they’re back to how they had been before. The only difference being the pink coloring in the swordsman’s cheeks, which he is sure is a mirror of his own, and their inability to look at each other.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “If that’s your reason, then you might as well be thinking about mine to not let you die, stupid.”

He snaps out of his reverie when his horse gives out a sharp neigh and almost tips him backwards for no apparent reason at all, if you ignore the fact that he almost made them both go off path because he hadn’t been paying any attention at all. Felix rolls his eyes at him before he continues walking, and he can’t help his laughter. Sylvain will give an apple or two to Luna later, and he can keep his thoughts busy some other time. 

It’s about time they rightfully crown their king. 

* * *

Gilbert had stayed behind while they had gone on to the fight Enbarr, but the state the castle is in still makes most do a double take. The floors have been polished and walls repainted, curtains burnt away during the scuffle replaced with new cloth, and the servants were back, making the place seemed more lively than before. They have a feast made for at least five hundred people done in no time, ready for the influx of people coming for the coronation. 

Said event takes place on the evening, the people gathered around the castle and it’s balcony. Up there Byleth, acting as the prince’s advisor, the prince himself and a representative of the Church were gathered. The last person was Seteth, who had been appointed by Byleth as Archbishop after the professor was chosen by Rhea. — He had claimed he knew nothing about the goddess’ teachings, which was true, although he was still willing to help the man. The new Archbishop was to crown and officially declare Dimitri as the king. 

Seteth’s voice boomed around the place as he gave a speech of peace, of justice and acceptance that Sylvain did not pay much attention to. He couldn’t take off his eyes of Dimitri. His friend, the man who he believed had died two or three years ago and who they had found alive but in a horrible place, the same person all his friends had feared they would lose, and this time for real, because he was stupid enough to go fighting on his own. The same person who had transformed into someone they looked up to, who considered and thought twice about the strategy to take as well as its consequences. He who valued friendship more than ever before, who smiled and joked and lead them to battle with no hesitation, but without being ruthless either, and who had believed in redemption even for his worst enemy. 

“I pronounce you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the king of the Holy Kingdom of Fargheus.” There are tears running down his cheeks — running down everyone’s face, he isn’t the only one crying — when Seteth finally places the crown on top of Dimitri’s head, but he still cheers along the rest of the Blue Lions, as loud as he can. 

* * *

Things like these only happened in the wildest dreams during the war, those of a peaceful future where everyone lived, but Sylvain can’t deny the sight before him. Commoners and nobles alike dancing on the floor and talking to each other as they have drinks and dinner. Several of the Blue Lions doing the same, and at the center of them all, King Dimitri and Byleth, dancing and looking at each other as if they're the only people in their world. Fireworks resonating in the distance. 

The fact that while all of that happens he is talking with Hilda and Ingrid about their plans for the future both leaves him astonished and elates him. Nobody believed they would all make it this far two years ago, hell, even a few months ago that seemed like a miracle. Hilda is going back to Leicester, intent on guarding Goneril and probably visit Almyra constantly, and Ingrid will be knighted officially next week, or so Dimitri tells her. He intends on staying around in the capital long enough to see that, he could never miss something so important to his best friend, especially because she waited all her life for this instance.

He’s about to tell the two ladies in front of him about what he believes the future has for him, or that was the plan until a hand wrapped around his arm and got his attention. Felix has a glass of wine in his hands, and his cheeks are slightly flushed, but something tells him that is no product of the alcohol, the sight is surprising one way or another. 

“We need to talk,” is the only thing that comes out of Fe’s lips before he starts dragging him away from their friends — who are not being helpful at all with the way they keep laughing — and in a direction that leads them deeper into the castle. He recognizes the path that Felix is taking, and sooner or later they find themselves in the same balcony they had used constantly many years ago for when they wished to stare at the stars, or watch a festival from far away. In fact, it was also the place they had used often to hide from their friends or adults looking for them. Fe had never wanted to return to Fraldarius whenever he was told his father’s business in Fhirdiad was over. 

The sound of his name snaps him back from his memories, and it’s at that moment that he realizes the swordsman has stopped holding onto his arm and is instead leaning against the railing. The sight makes his heart leap to his throat, and so does Felix’s next words. “I will tell you this once, and only once, got it, moron?” The raven waits until he’s nodding before he continues. “I… I care more about you than any of those people outside, I care for you only a little more than I care for the boar and Ingrid, who’s like a sister to me, but… still. I… Oh, fuck this.”

Felix seems frustrated, he keeps fidgeting with his hair and making it even more of a mess than it already is, until he stops. His gaze changes from staring at the floor to looking directly at Sylvain, and it only takes him a few steps to get in front of the ginger and grip the collar of his shirt with his hands. Sylvain thinks of many outcomes for the situation, many of those were he would end up punched. But— 

Felix’s lips brush against his and his whole train of thought stops. 

It only lasts a second, but it’s enough for him to know and understand that the sensation is different from all those kisses he had shared with maidens, in a past where he had been careless and stupid. It’s not a feeling that leaves a burn and grants him only fleeting passion, happiness that’s merely a facade. Felix somehow makes him feel…_ complete_. The realization makes him want to laugh. 

“Look, you said something before, and… I love you too, Sylvain, moron, whatever. Do you understand now why I would be annoyed if you died? I have the same, and probably more reasons as you to hate if you were to die.” Fe huffs, and seems to ponder his words before looking at him, his whole stance screaming how determined he is. “I have a proposition for you. Give me your life, and I’ll give you mine. I will take care of yours like you will not.”

The redhead could be dead at the moment, for this moment feels too much like heaven. Peace may have seemed like a fleeting dream, a miracle, but this? This is something not even the saints could have pictured. Sylvain can’t help but grin as he places his hands on each of Felix’s cheeks. 

“Fe, you’re so silly.” He laughs at the look that the man directs at him, it’s full of pure confusion. He kind of wants to place kisses all over his face to make that expression shift into a smile. “I gave my life to you a long time ago, everything I am belongs to you, love,” Sylvain mumbles, and this time he does not resist the urge to kiss Felix’s confusion away. 

The fireworks exploding in the distance seemed to mimic the pounding of his heart. 

* * *

Light seeps through the open curtains of the room, lighting up the place and making it look more lively, just like every morning. He sits in one of the couches of the room, sipping on on the Bergamot tea one of the maids had prepared, just how he liked it. They had also been kind enough to bring a tray of sweets for his guest, along with the correspondence that had been delivered for himself. 

Felix sits across from him sipping on his own cup of Four-Spice,  _ discreetly _ or so he thinks, munching on one of the sugar cookies from the tray. He’s reading a letter someone from House Galatea — obviously Ingrid — sent to him, he must have let her know in advance that he was coming over to Gautier, unlike how he never tells Sylvain (He supposes it’s fair, the Margrave never lets him know when he’s going to Fraldarius either. It’s supposed to be a surprise). 

Meanwhile, Sylvain has to go through letters from both counts and dukes speaking to him about political things that really should have been addressed to his father, if the man hadn’t retired and left the title of Margrave to him after the war ended. He hates dealing with these kind of things, although it is better than having to deal with three demonic beasts in a row. 

Regardless, he’s glad when he spots messages addressed to him from the Blue Lions, all telling him different anecdotes of how their lives have been. Ashe mentions the ruckus of a journey that he’s having with Linhardt and Caspar, even though he’s still having fun. Mercedes tells him about her days in Garreg Mach and divulges sometimes in how her brother is doing in prison (They really couldn’t just let him walk free after the deaths that he caused, but Jeritza is supposed to get out if he keeps a good behavior in less than a year). Hilda writes about the school she’s making so that he’ll get nobles to sponsor it, and Claude interrupts her letter midway to challenge him to a game of chess next time he visits Fargheus. 

Sylvain adores hearing from his friends, but the most interesting letter of the bunch would be the one sealed with the Blaiddyd stamp. The envelope being unlike any from the pile with its gold decoration to the side, and when he reaps of the seal, the message is something that surprises him, but it is also something that he should have seen coming. 

“Fe, darling.” At the mention of the pet name Felix’s eyes snap to his with a small glare (He doesn’t loathe them, in fact, Sylvain is willing to bet he adores the nicknames he keeps giving him, but Felix hates that’s the one thing he can’t surpass him at). The look is replaced with confusion as he sees what the redhead holds in his hand. Sylvain takes that as an invitation to continue. “My love, did you know? Dimitri and the professor are finally tying the knot. They probably payed Ignatz to make this for them, but they have invited us both.”

The raven takes the invitation from his hands just as he finishes his snack and proceeds to laugh. “Six fucking months after the war was over. I can’t believe it. Do you think the boar finally got the courage to make the question himself or did the professor finally get one of Dimitri’s hints?”

The margrave hums and out habit begins twisting with the ring on his finger. The piece of jewelry is quite beautiful, it has tiny pieces of sapphire encrusted in the silver band. “I believe in Dimitri more than I do in Byleth suddenly gaining awareness.” 

Felix laughs again, which makes him proud. And yet he’s more focused on how the movement causes the light to hit and make the tiny rubies in the other man’s ring shine. It’s almost equal to his own and Sylvain can’t help his chuckle. “Perhaps they managed to do something like we did, you know? How I proposed to you in one of my surprise visits and you showed two weeks ago at my doorstep with this ring and a three dozens of roses because you refused to be beaten.” 

“Oh, shut up, Sylvain. You can’t really complain if you put those flowers around the place as decoration, there are even a few of them here.” The duke rolls his eyes, and Sylvain can admit that Felix isn’t wrong. He had asked the maids to place at least one rose in the rooms across the manor, too elated with the situation. He wanted to remember his partner everytime he stepped into a new place. 

“Plus, I… I kind of wanted to make sure you got one of these as well, idiot. What’s the point of marriage if we’re not really equals from the beginning?” The noble wants to laugh, only Felix would pull such a senseless yet correct argument just to avoid saying he wanted to give a ring to him out of love. Regardless, he understands. Before he can say anything about it, the raven groans and grimaces. “Those fucking idiots probably don’t have anything planned yet and they’re already passing around invitations, there’s not even a date here.”

Sylvain shakes his head and reaches out across to wrap one of his hands around his lover’s, the swordsman letting their fingers intertwine in seconds. “Fe, technically we have nothing planned either. Ingrid, Dorothea and Annette are the ones handling everything for us. Besides, if you’re worried it’ll interfere with our own…” 

The man trails off as he stands up from his position and moves to sit next to the duke, their knees touching. He lets his hands trail across Felix’s cheeks and down to his neck, until they’re sitting comfortably in his shoulders. He keeps drawing random circles with his thumbs. “If you’re worried, we can always wait a little more, neither of us is going anywhere soon. We have the rest of our lives together, and I, for one, will remain by your side no matter what.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Is what he hears Felix mutter before he’s being pulled down, his lips meeting the raven’s only once before he moves on to scatter fleeting kisses all over his chin and cheeks. The laugh that he lets out is swallowed when Felix kisses him again, and when he pulls away, Sylvain swears he can hear the man say something like “I love you, you dumb moron.”

People that knew him from his Academy days would say that he had the same smile as ever, however, the gesture finally reached his eyes and made them shine with utter happiness. “I love you too, Felix. So damn much.”

* * *

They were over.

The days his friends would suffer and keep getting hurt ended began and ended with a war. Although he supposed their days of happiness began with a war as well, or at the very least, with the end of it. The rest of them continued with love, journeys, and some weddings in between, as well as the rebuilding of an entire country. 

Sylvain didn’t pay too much attention to the details, he was too busy living his life the best he could, with the only person who had ever made him feel a different, more real, type of love by his side. 


End file.
